


Dog Tree

by Goodspark



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dudley’s a jerk, Harry Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Seriously can I give my babies a hug and maybe wrap them in bubble wrap?, Sirius Needs a Hug, Sirius breaks out of prison, Yes the title’s awful I know, Young Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodspark/pseuds/Goodspark
Summary: Sirius Black was tired of Azkaban. Of the constant reminder two of his best friends were killed. That one he’d considered a brother had betrayed all of them.Most of all, though, he misses his godson. Misses seeing, holding, laughing with his Harry.So, that’s what he intends to do.When the time is right, of course.(Can be read with my other story Naive Bravo. They don’t piece together, but they’re relative enough of one another.)
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter (mentioned), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Dog Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! If you are, in fact, here reading this, then thank you! This is my second time making the authors notes and everything,- as I foolishly got everything deleted- so I’ll try to keep the notes short.
> 
> Just a heads that this is the first time I’ve posted on this site. And that it’s ate my italics and strike throughs. Apologies for any and all confusion such may cause.
> 
> This has been typed and posted in between the hours of 1-3 a.m. so I’m sorry in advance I don’t have the will-power to correct as much as I should.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Life has been hell for Sirius Black.

The agonizing heartbreak he’d felt the moment he learned of his best friends’, James and Lily Potter, murder was still fresh in his mind; his heart. Even after these last few years it still remains clasped around his soul, crushing, unhinging.

One would think it’d be lessened by vast months upon months in the horrendous hold of Azkaban. If anything, however, it makes it all the more painful.

There’s not much in the form of distraction when behind jaded bars. With no magic, and the only ‘entertainment’ being the chance a fight breaks out outside his cell, or if another fellow prisoner actually manages to give tale of a descent story. Beyond that, though, or the reliable visits from soul-sucking Dementors, all he’s left with are his thoughts and memories; Past, present and, distantly, future.

The memories of him and his fellow Marauders’ antics throughout the halls of Hogwarts, and beyond. Of James and Lily’s beautiful relationship. Remus and his own slow-burn kindling... Until the betrayal from that worm Pettigrew. The one that cost Everything in the end.

Everything, except one beautiful little beam of moonlight: His godson, Harry. 

Harry James Potter. The single-most adorably charming baby he’s ever had the absolute pleasure of meeting. The little boy who’d stolen his heart, wrapped him between his teensy digits, from the very moment Lily and James proudly announced their pregnancy. Harry, with his chunky baby cheeks. The wisps of airy dark hair stop a precious little brilliant noggin....

Oh, how he’s longed to see, to hold, his godson over these dragging months. Years.

And now he intends to make that possible.

...

Harry was tired.

It wasn’t an atypical childish “I’m sleepy” whiney-tired that he so often hears grumbled throughout his lessons at school. That his cousin Dudley frequently vocalizes.

It was a bone-deep, soul-deep, all-encompassing exhaustion that caused his entire body, being, to pulsating-ache. 

Unfortunately, such wasn’t an uncommon happening.

A gust of heated air ghosts through Harry’s sealed lips from his position within the limited shadow afforded to him beneath his favored local ancient tree in the school yard.

The brunette observes his peers as they all frolic about the rich greenery of the yard, dancing about the numerous play equipment in raucous merriment. It’s his daily form of outdoor entertainment- well, besides the books he occasionally smuggles outside if he’s feeling especially brave.

Goodness knows Dudley and his cronies take such viscous pleasure in destroying school property and blaming it on the younger brunette, after all.

Today, however, Harry can’t help but shiver at the chilly air ghosting along the roots of the tree he’s seated upon. It was steadily approaching the cooler months and the ratty tee stripped of sleeves that formerly belonged to dear Dudleykins didn’t offer much in regards to warmth. Nor did the jeans tattered by daily grooming in the yard and within the Dursley House.

“Well if it isn’t Potter. Say, have you finished me homework yet?” 

Harry has to clamp down on the oh-so tempting urge to clamp his eyes closed and groan at his misfortune of the abrupt, sneering voice; The same time that haunted his waking and unawake hours. However, if there’s one thing living with his aunt, uncle, and cousin has taught him, it’s that he must never show fear. Or any emotion, really. 

Food for the wolves is all it serves as.

And these particular predators are well-fed as is.

A silent grunt escapes Harry as he suddenly finds himself at the base of his Great Tree’s vast, thick roots; Calloused, boney hands and knees digging into the unforgivable ground.

“I asked you a question, Potter!” Dudley snaps In his squeaky, childish voice above him, sounding eerily like a miniature version of his walrus father. The shaggy brunette has no time to properly pick himself up from the dirt before a harsh kick is swung at his abdomen, felling him immediately. The previous punishment from his Uncle Vernon still smarting viciously from his bruised ribs merely swells further at the assault. Dimly, Harry wonders if the harsh crack he hears is from his ribcage, the pounding of his head connecting with the earth, or merely his imagination. Unfortunately, he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment to discern which.

”It’s no wonder mother and father put you up to work. You’re just a stupid, useless Freak!” Dudley chortles with his equally pig-esque crew. The familiar pang of pain, self-loathing, why me? fills the downed boy, numbed over by the solitude that he deserves this. He deserves this, his aunt’s hatred, his uncle’s harsh punishments, because he’s worthless. A Freak. An orphaned Nobody. 

Just as Dudley swings his chunky leg back, a savage grin adorning his pudgy cheeks, in preparation of another round of abuse, a low, rumbling growl slices through the air.

Harry, scrabbling along the ground for his glasses that’d sometime flew off his face, is left in confusion as Dudley and his gang fight to scrabble away faster than their feet can take them, stirring up dust and dirt in their wake.

Short coughs escape the young Potter as he struggles to right himself on trembling arms. A sharp pain flares up in his abdomen, however, landing him right back on the ground. It’s only natural instinct that has him curling into a semi-fetal position.

He flinches when an abrupt cold, wet something probes at a minuscule patch of skin between the loose collar of his shirt and the drop of his shaggy hair, curling into himself further when it only serves to jostle his injuries.

Blue eyes blink open sluggishly, gazing around the limited field of space afforded between his knees folded beneath his chin and the stray locks drooping into his eyes. Only to focus on the large, dark form in front of him. Alarmed, he shoots into an upright position, ignoring the immediate flood of pain- minus the barest of winces- in favor of scrambling backwards on dirtied hands.

A low whine echoes through the black dog’s throat in the face of the skinny, too skinny, boy’s fear. In hopes of nullifying such emotion, he plops down on his hindquarters. It doesn’t make him any less tall, but hopefully lessens how imposing his form can be.

Harry watches, bright, weary, ocean blue orbs wide, as the ebony canine plops down at the edge of the roots of his favored tree. As he? she?, he mostly likely by the huskiness that was laced in his growl, seems to hunch the natural sprawl to his proud-set shoulders. As if attempting to withdrawal some semblance of his intimidating presence.

Slowly, hesitantly, gaze locked on intense, yet somehow warm,- if not somewhat eerily familiar- dark eyes, the brunette raises himself wearily into a more upright position instead of inclined. The pain that’d been pushed aside by a rush of adrenaline steadily floods back at the pressure put on his middle. Harry stiffens as a low, angry rumble vibrates in the dog’s throat at the child’s slight wince. It doesn’t sound threatening, towards him in any case, somehow, though, so he doesn’t retreat into himself. If anything, it makes him more bold.

Slowly, steadily, a grimy hand marred by already-there callouses, great smudges of brown-black, and tiny pinpricks of blood from the bits of earth and pebble that’d bit into his flesh extends. Intelligently, the dog leans forwards in increments, allowing time for the boy to shy away if he desires. 

To the canine’s surprise the boy doesn’t, digits now resting mere centimeters away from his matted fur. Such distance is thwarted years moments later, the teeniest of pressure resting atop his head as to be nonexistent. A low whine escapes him.

Unconsciously, Harry begins to pet the animal, reminded of the times stray dogs and cats alike had come up to him on the streets seeking attention throughout the years- and, on one particularly memorable occasion, a baby garden snake. (Needless to say, his aunt and uncle were never all too happy about such occasions.) This time, however, just feels vastly different. There’s an undercurrent of something there that his young mind, though brilliant, is struggling to connect to... Well, he’s not quite certain.

Whatever it is, though, must not be all too important, he supposes. Despite a background nagging presence that suggests otherwise.

“Potter! Harry Potter! Get away from that mutt now and come along inside!” The distant, fast-approaching shrill voice of his teacher has the brunette snapping back into reality. His hand retracts from between the dogs floppy ears as if scalded, head snapping around to face the red-faced woman approaching as if it isn’t a large dog seated towering above Harry’s crouched, slight form. “This instant, young man!” 

“Yes, Ms. Dublecker.” The boy murmurs, cowed, loud enough to be heard. The graying, mid-aged woman halts her steady approach, as if only just fully acknowledging the growling beast. Huffing, she strides back towards the double set of doors leading back into the side of the school building.

“Well,” Harry smiles a bit wistfully, “nice to meet you, boy. Go on an’ behave yourself now. I’m sure you’re missed wherever you’re from.” And with one last scritch-scratch on the ears, the young Potter dutifully starts off after his teacher, waving over his shoulder at the sad? dog in farewell.

Secretly, he can’t help but wish to see the familiar dog again.

Unbeknownst to the boy, Padfoot intends for such a thing to become particularly common.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start by explaining that I’m aware this is a little choppy and could stand to be slapped by a thesaurus, some better structure, and everything in between. However, this story was never meant to be multi-chaptered or anything. It was merely, when I started typing it this morning, so I could say I actually managed to finish something as I’ve continuously failed to do over the years. Also, I don’t write much anymore so apologies for that as well.
> 
> Oh, and Harry’s age isn’t mentioned because I haven’t quite decided on one. I like to think he’s around 1st-2nd grade, but picture what you wish.
> 
> I’m sure I’m forgetting something.... I’m sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> (Update 4/12/2020: I'm just now semi figuring out how to keep my italics and such from being ate, so if you're alerted to an update, I'm so sorry)


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